2. What Comes With A Dress
That night Jacqueline was walking the streets of Paris. She was clad in a simple blue dress that she had kept hidden in her room and even donned a blonde wig underneath her grey hooded cloak. It was dangerous to be walking in the city at all with the wanted posters still up, but she needed to take a break from being a man, even if it was only for an hour.
The streets were deserted until she turned the corner. Senses dulled by her inward thinking, she did not see the blonde man until he grabbed her around the waist, drawing her back into the shadows and shoving her up against a wall. His hot breath blew on her neck as he mumbled, pressing her with his whole body. "What do we have here? It must be my lucky day."
Jacqueline broke out of her shock into action. "Your luck seems to have deceived you," she whispered seductively. She worked a knee up to hit him in a sensitive spot. He roared and hit her face, fist contacting eye. Her arms were freed as he doubled over with a well aimed kick, and she shoved him back. With another knee to his stomach to finish him, she pulled up her skirts and ran. The only thought in her mind was getting back to where she had stashed her uniform and weapons. She rounded a corner and collided with another lone man. He fell backwards, dragging Jacqueline to land on top of him.
"Mademoiselle, are you alright?" he struggled to get up while trying to help her at the same time.
Jacqueline jumped away in astonishment and asked, "D'Artagnan?"
He recognized her voice as well. "Jacqueline?" He looked her up and down. "What are you doing out here? Why are you dressed like…" He fingered a lock of her blonde wig and then noticed her swelling, red eye.
She knocked his hand away, looked down to hide her face and adjusted the wig that had gone askew. "Nothing. I should be asking why you are out here; Captain Duval gave you a direct order."
"What happened to your eye?" d'Artagnan gently tilted her chin up to bring it into the faint light.
"A scuffle with someone is all," Jacqueline told him airily. "I was on my way back. Will you come with me?" Despite her tough talk, the encounter had shaken her.
Surprise crossed his face, but d'Artagnan managed to nod and offer his arm. Wordlessly she took it and led him to where she had left her clothes. Jacqueline insistently sent him back ahead of her despite his reluctance.
"I'll be a man again and a Musketeer, too. Don't worry," she assured him.
D'Artagnan hesitated and looked at her one last time. "I could never see you as a man again." He spun on his heel and walked purposefully away.
Jacqueline found her way to her room through the empty back halls of the Musketeer barracks by the light of the moon streaming through the narrow windows. She had taken a raw steak from the garrison kitchens to soothe her sore eye.
Locking the door securely behind her, she laid the cloth wrapped steak on her side table and packed her dress and wig back into her trunk. Jacqueline then poured out water to scrub her face, gently around her bruised eye but harshly on her chin to remove the adhesive that held the faux hair on her chin.
As she patted her clean face dry, she took note of her shaking hands. She rubbed them brusquely on her arms—a Musketeer did not tremble! The calluses from years of farm work and months of intense swordplay were rough on her skin. "No matter how much you pretend, you could never be a lady," she reminded herself, her one good eye lingering on the locked chest of clothes reflected in her mirror.
D'Artagnan was pulling off his shirt to go to bed when a knock sounded on his door, and it opened before he could even reply. "Jacqueline!" he exclaimed, standing up, surprised at her late night visit.
"Shhhh!" she reprimanded in a hushed tone. "I have to ask you something important and I don't want the whole garrison to come running."
"Of course… sit down." He gestured to the bed, and Jacqueline sat gingerly on the edge. He sunk down beside her.
She struggled to make out words and finally blurted out, "Could you put a shirt on or something?"
"Yes, right," he replied, jumping up to slide his shirt back on. He slid back over to the bed and reclaimed his seat nodding for her to continue.
"D'Artagnan, I need something," she said bluntly.
"What is it?" he said hastily as he sat next to her. "You know you can ask anything of me and I'd do it. I promised your brother. And I want to."
"I know, and thank you for that. Do you still have that fake diamond?" Jacqueline asked in a soft tone.
D'Artagnan was caught so off guard that he could not process the question right away. "The one that Princess Tatiana gave you?" her voice intruded on his thoughts.
He managed to focus back on her face. "Yes, I do. Why do you want to know?"
"Could I have it?" Jacqueline asked sweetly.
D'Artagnan narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
Jacqueline frowned, and her face darkened. "I just need it, alright? Yes or no?"
"Sure," he acquiesced easily. He searched through an inside pocket of his jacket hung on the chair next to him and pulled out an embroidered handkerchief. He unwrapped it slowly, revealing the tiny quartzite stone inside. "Here, it's all yours."
She picked it up delicately with two fingers and smirked. "Do you always carry spare jewels on you?"
"You never know when a deserving lady will come along," he drawled, folding the handkerchief and tucking it back into its compartment.
Jacqueline's expression softened. "Thank you," her smile was sincere as she continued, "for calling me a lady." She rose to leave.
D'Artagnan jumped up after her. "Wait! Don't go yet."
Jacqueline paused facing the door, taking a deep breath before facing him. "Okay, d'Artagnan, just because I came up to your room and you gave me a shiny rock doesn't mean—"
"No! That's not what I meant… I just want to talk." He gave an innocent grin, his eyebrows raised pleadingly.
Hesitating a moment, Jacqueline replied, "I can talk." She retraced her steps and sat on the bed again. "What did you have in mind?"
"How's your eye?" he fumbled.
Jacqueline touched her swollen face self-consciously. "It will heal."
D'Artagnan gathered his strength and took up the guarded position he used when interrogating prisoners. "Why don't we talk about with the reason you were out alone late at night in a dress?"
Jacqueline's face fell with each word. "Shhh! Do you want the whole garrison to hear?" She looked around nervously. "Besides, I could ask you the same question." She locked on his face with an accusatory glare. "Well, except for the dress part." Both Musketeers shook off the mental image.
"I had a… rendezvous," he stammered. "You know I don't break my promises."
"Your promises to a pretty woman, you mean," Jacqueline snorted and rose to her feet. "Maybe I was at a 'rendezvous,' too. What do you think of that, lover boy?" She stabbed his chest with an angry forefinger.
D'Artagnan stared at her hard. "You don't mean that."
"Oh, yes I do. Now, I'm tired, and I'm sure you need your beauty sleep," Jacqueline turned to open the door. It refused to budge. "Why won't this open?" she asked without looking at him.
"It gets jammed." Taking his time, d'Artagnan shook the obstinate door loose and opened it for her with a mock bow, staring straight over her head with clenched jaw. Jacqueline passed him, chin in air, with only a sniff for thanks.
